


Bound

by poodleapocalypse



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blood, Codependency, M/M, Oneshot, Roadhog's perspective, Terminal Illnesses, radiation poisoning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-15 23:38:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13041912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poodleapocalypse/pseuds/poodleapocalypse
Summary: When you force two half-sane criminals to play nice with a gang of glory-fed citizen defenders, tensions are bound to run high. Junkrat pushes it too far.





	Bound

It was bound to happen eventually.

 

Roadhog had known this from the second they had set foot on Overwatch Headquarters property, that it was going to happen eventually. The tense, forced smiles of their company, the squeaky-clean bravado, the already-present strain of a team of wolves with no sheep. All Leaders. No followers. Not to mention the presence of omnics.

 

He'd be lying if he said he hadn't been tense, waiting for it. He had long since given up the facade of sticking with Rat purely for the money, since it had long since run out and here he was still, by his side, silently reprimanding his shivering, wheezing antics.

 

He was far too old to clumsily sort out the particulars of their relationship. It simply was. It would never not be.

 

That didn’t mean he shared his desire to "go on the straight and narrow," as Rat liked to crow. He had no horse in this race. No, he was here only for Jamison, because, simply, they would not survive apart. Not anymore.

 

His personal thoughts aside, the tension in Headquarters was thick enough to chew, and the Junkers’ presence only strained it further- Dangerous extremist criminals mixing with the last members of an idyllic task force, bound only by the promise of cash. Hardly a clean match, already.

 

It didn’t help that the little turd refused to keep his mouth shut, pulling new garbage every day, setting fires, experimenting with explosives, leaving his messes behind, cackling. The only time he DID shut up was when he had to interact with an omnic- be it the oddly serene one who set Roadhog on edge, or his fight-happy student- the one who was human, but more machine than man. If either of them attempted to speak to him, Junkrat would retreat a few steps, lip curled and growling like an animal. “Back off, bolthead,” He’d spit, before scampering off as another fit of manic laughter racked his wraithlike frame.

 

They’d all look at Roadhog with perplexed, indignant faces, as though he could fix that. As though he didn’t share the same sentiments, though he actually knew how to control them. As though they hadn’t taken his home, his family.

 

He’d blink at them slowly, not wasting his words, and disappear after him.

 

And so tensions climbed.

 

It was bound to happen eventually, and eventually, it did. Junkrat finally ran his fucking motor mouth into the ground like a rusty engine and got himself clocked in the face by the student- Genji, he was called- after insulting the other one. Zenyatta.

Roadhog heard the fist collide with his face with a _crack_  and immediately snapped his hook out, catching Genji around the legs and yanking them out from under him. He went down quickly, unprepared for Roadhog’s interference, landing flat on his back with a metallic _clang._ Roadhog sneered beneath his mask. Little _fucker._

 

Roadhog was prepared for it to end there, Genji warned against the further throwing of fists. He’d check Rat’s jaw and they’d move the fuck on with their lives, because certainly, they’ve been through worse.

 

But today must have been one of Junkrat’s bad days, because just as he was settling back again, Jamison launched himself at the floored cyborg, screeching like a rabid animal.

 

“Just take a fuckin’ swing at a bloke like that, eh?! You _fuckin’ tosser,_ I’ll use you for _spare BLOODY PARTS-!”_ He wasn’t even punching, just tearing at his face with brittle fingers, his voice becoming more and more frantic until it was incomprehensible. Roadhog swore under his breath as he rushed him, grabbing his flailing fists and yanking him back roughly, causing him to let out a wet scream of frustration, kicking uselessly at him like a child throwing a tantrum. Genji scrambled to his feet, rubbing his face and hissing seething curses as he prepared to rush in again, but pulled up short as his master put a hand up to stop him. “Something is wrong,” He heard him mutter to the other. _Yeah, no shit._

 

 _“Jamison,”_ Roadhog growled pointedly at the snarling, spitting creature he held. If he kept up at this rate, he was going to-

 

As suddenly as it began, the tantrum ended, Jamison’s eyes blowing wide as his screeches seemed to catch in his throat. He choked, looking at Roadhog frantically, and Roadhog quickly guided him to the ground, where he collapsed, hunched over, heaving. He was silent then, for a few seconds, and Roadhog wondered if it had been a false alarm. Then-

 

His body went completely rigid, curled over like a withered stalk, and he coughed violently, a spray of blood escaping his mouth and spattering the linoleum floor with every desperate hack. Between fits, he tried to reach up with one arm and wipe his mouth, before it dropped back to the floor to brace himself as another round racked through him. Roadhog kneeled beside him, silent, one massive hand curled over his back and shoulder. He waited.

 

After what seemed like forever, the coughs subsided, and a pale, shaking Junkrat crumpled against him, shuddering unevenly with panic in his eyes. He gulped the air, unable to catch it in his breath. Turning so his back was to the others present, Roadhog unbuckled his mask, sliding it off and placing it over Jamison’s sweat-sheened face. _“_ Breathe,” He murmured, ignoring the aching of his scarred lungs. Gradually, his breath evened, and finally, his fortitude gave out, and Jamison’s body went limp against his stomach.

 

Roadhog let him sit for a few moments, then took his real wrist- thin and flimsy in his grip- and felt for his pulse. It was faint, but growing more steady. He let out a low sigh, his damaged lungs beginning to throb in his chest, and removed the mask from Jamison’s face, sliding it back into place over his hair and buckling it, immediately feeling the relief as the filtered, medicated air flooded his system.

 

With that, he carefully lifted Jamison’s body, keeping him curled protectively against his chest as he got to his feet with a pained grunt. He turned to regard the two silent observers, neither able to come up with something suitable to say. Finally, Zenyatta spoke. “Perhaps- we should call Dr. Ziegler-”

 

Roadhog shook his head. “ ‘s not goin’ away,” He grunted, turning his back on them and trodding towards the door. “Keep this t’ yourselves.” Without turning to see their hesitant nods of agreement, he let the door close behind him.

 

Junkrat felt small and cold in his grip, his mechanics creaking with rust as Roadhog walked- pieces of scrap metal welded together by Jeweller’s hands, steady, delicate things meant for finer lots than this- Left arthritic and twitching from an eternity of nuclear hardship. Roadhog shifted him, so he could brush a drop of blood from where it had leaked out the corner of his mouth, leaving a ruby-red trail down the side of his face.

  


It was bound to happen eventually.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a glorified sickfic. I love angst at 5 in the morning!


End file.
